


Sunset.

by orphan_account



Series: Fleeting [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is sure Tony is trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunset.

“Your hands aren’t shaking anymore.” Bruce smiles at the camera in his computer. Normally as Tony adjusted the web camera he kept separate from his monitor it quivered back and forth. But now it stayed steady as he slid it over.  
“What? Oh, yeah.” Tony smiles back at him, and stretches in his chair. He’s shirtless. It’s intentional (it’s always intentional.) Bruce decides he’s not unlike the jaguars he’s seen occasionally, sprawled out and lazy but always ready to pounce.

“So things are going on track?”

“For now.” Bruce smiles again, though this time he does it away from the camera. “Today is week two, I think.”

He didn’t make Tony start recovery. He knows that. But Bruce is proud of him, anyway. He’s been in the jungle a few months now; they’ve started this correspondence over and over again. It’s sticking, he thinks. He’s allowed himself to think that before, but Tony looks self-satisfied again. Bruce is actually a bit jealous he could reach inside himself and pull that back out. Looks are fleeting, though, and no one is as fleeting as Tony Stark.

“Hey Bruce?”

“Mmm.”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” Tony makes little circles on his hip, raises an eyebrow. “A lot a lot.”

Oh. Well. Bruce scratches his head and becomes very interested in an ant colony to the side of him. It’s not that he’s particularly shy about this kind of thing. It just seems out of left field, even for him. “Tony, it’s 98 degrees here with 100 percent humidity.” It’s supposed to be some kind of deterrent, but Tony just sneers at his camera.

“That’s the idea, genius. Seeing you all hot and sweaty, Brazilian sunset behind you. It’s… exotic, or somethin’.”

“You’re slurring.” The accusation makes Tony’s face go very dark, his lips curling over his teeth. When he punches the table Bruce winces, even though he’s thousands of miles away from him. The camera twists to the side from the force and reveals the half-empty handle of gin on his desk. Bruce should have caught it when his hands weren’t shaking.

“Fuck!—“ Whatever tirade he’s about to go off on, Bruce doesn’t hear. He slams his laptop shut so hard it sinks into the spongy forest floor a few millimeters. He’s probably heard the rant before at least a dozen times, anyway.

Bruce falls onto the forest floor, the peat hot against his back. He wants to lie here forever but there’s too much to be done, like dinner and finding a safe place to sleep. Self-preservation seems like a lot of effort when it’s not intrinsically motivated.


End file.
